


A Bolt from the Blue

by In_Pieces



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Awkward Dadgil Moments, Gen, Zine: Little Boy Lost Little Boy Found - A Dadgil Zine (Devil May Cry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Pieces/pseuds/In_Pieces
Summary: Vergil calls Nero 'son' to taunt him during a sparring session. All hell breaks loose.(My piece for Little Boy Lost, Little Boy Found - A Dadgil zine).
Relationships: Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90





	A Bolt from the Blue

Nero groaned as he fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath. His hand reached up to apply pressure to the wound on his chest, feeling the gash quickly closing itself with a burning itch.

“How boring.”

Vergil sounded so uninterested, as if Nero hadn’t been trying this whole damn time. He promised himself he would stop fighting his father because he was, quite frankly, tired of it. Tired of the constant stream of emotions running through his mind. Tired of trying to know the answers to questions he didn’t feel ready to ask. But violence was the only language Vergil understood, and since his return from hell, this had been the only way they’d been able to ‘bond’, if one could call it that. 

And he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Nero let out an exasperated growl as he firmly grasped Blue Rose and stood up in a swift movement, aiming it directly at his father’s torso. He’d been tilting for the last 20 minutes, the unbearable frustration making his movements raw and sloppy. His first shot only met the blue haze that Vergil left behind as he teleported in front of him. The second one buzzed past his father’s ear. The third shot never left the barrel. 

Vergil hit him in the stomach with Yamato’s scabbard, knocking the air out of him. One swift flick of his wrist had been enough to make Nero drop Blue Rose, leaving a thin wound across his fingers. Nero reached behind his back, gripping Red Queen’s handle to parry the impending attack. It never came. The tip of the Yamato was dangerously pointed at his throat now and, just like that, he’d lost again.

“Is this the extent of your power, _son_?”

All of Nero’s bottled-up anger and emotion came to life as Vergil’s words began to sink in. He could deal with the taunts, Vergil’s shitty attempts at making amends, and the slow and arduous process of healing the mental wounds that stemmed from all the half-truths Vergil had spewed. 

But his _father_ had said that word as if the title itself had been a mocking insult, something shameful, unworthy. Nero had longed to hear that coming out of someone’s lips for _years,_ only for it to be spat like it was nothing and thrown in his face in blatant humiliation.

“Fuck you.” Nero pushed the katana forcefully to the side with his hand, his fury mixing with a hot wave of disappointment as he stormed back inside. He could barely hear Vergil calling out his name, but he couldn’t do it anymore. This had all been a bad idea from the start and he’d known all along, but he still did it every single week, hoping that, one day, things would change.

The hunter sighed as he leaned back on the kitchen counter and stared at the vast space in front of him. The house was too still and quiet, and he wished Kyrie was there, offering the advice he desperately needed to clear his mind. 

Vergil came inside after a couple of minutes, awfully silent for someone who had enjoyed every second of his shit-talking session not so long ago. He walked with purpose towards the door, his eyes betraying the stoicism displayed on his face. There was a hint of guilt with a dash of shame in them, and Vergil being ashamed of something felt almost as foreign as him walking away from a fight.

“Where are you going?”

Vergil stopped in the middle of the hallway, his posture stiff. He didn’t look back, and it was hard to tell whether he did it out of remorse or pride. “It would be best if I leave.”

“No, I’ve had enough.” Nero peeled his body away from the counter, and Vergil only turned to look at him once he heard the high-pitched screech a chair made as Nero pulled it out. “You are gonna to sit down, and we’re gonna talk about this.”

To his surprise, Vergil took a seat at the opposite end of the table. 

They remained silent for a couple of minutes, father and son looking everywhere but in each other’s direction. The clock’s painfully slow tick behind Nero was _maddening._ There were countless things he wanted to tell Vergil, and now that the old man was finally willing to listen, his mind couldn’t think of where to begin.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers silently drumming on the chair’s armrest before he looked up. “Don’t call me that again,” Nero started. “I’m not Dante, and I’m tired of you treating me like I’m him.”

Vergil barely acknowledged the statement. He remained impassive, unyielding, his silence almost taunting. What was the point, then? Was he planning to just stare? To see what Nero would do only to shut down and run away from his problems like he always did? 

“You don’t even care, do you? I lost my arm because of you. I almost lost Dante because of you. Thousands died because you wanted to eat a fucking _fruit._ And for what? Was it worth it?”

Nero wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid look off of Vergil’s face. He looked so uninterested, almost bored, staring at him as if he didn’t deserve an explanation for everything he’d done while Nero’s blood boiled, searing and hot, his harsh gaze turning into a glare.

“Answer me, dammit!” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Vergil’s reply was abrupt, sounding almost like a hiss. Nero had never seen that look on his father’s face, a mixture of anger and regret that managed to shine through his perfectly composed persona. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I could try if you just fucking let me!” 

“It’s not that simple, Nero.”

“It’s not simple because you make everything so damn complicated! I want to understand. I want to make this work. Can’t you see that?” 

Vergil said nothing. He simply held Nero’s gaze, and, after a couple of seconds, he nodded. It was something subtle, very much alike to what he’d done when they were on top of the Qliphoth, and Nero was certain that, if he’d blinked, he would’ve missed it.

The hurricane of emotions inside Nero began to turn into a far more manageable turmoil as he sank into his seat. He didn’t expect his father to actually yield, and it felt so damn _relieving_ to know that he was finally willing to give their relationship a shot.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Vergil spoke up first.

“I will respect your wishes,” he started. “And won’t call you ‘son’ unless you wish me to.”

“Thanks.” 

“As for your questions,” Vergil’s posture became stiffer, his jaw tightening. “I did it because…” He stopped, perhaps to rearrange his thoughts. “All I wanted…”

“Was to be protected and loved?” Nero finished when it was clear that Vergil couldn’t. “Yeah. Me too.”

His father looked surprised. Perhaps he didn’t expect him to remember that—or hoped he wouldn’t. 

Was it too much? Too soon? It was hard to tell, but Nero didn’t want to dwell on it, at least not now. The day had already been too draining, and all he wanted was to go back to something more… digestible.

“We should try to get to know each other,” Nero suggested, and watched the ever-present frown on Vergil’s face deepen. “What do you like to do?”

Vergil mulled over the question perhaps a little too much. It shouldn’t have been that hard, but then again, Nero hadn’t seen his father do anything but read, leaving little to no time to indulge in anything he deemed ‘unworthy of his time’.

“I enjoy drinking tea.”

Not much of a hobby, but Nero could work with that.

“Okay. There’s a coffee shop about 20 minutes away. Don’t know if the tea’s any good, but the coffee’s decent.” Nero stated as he rose from the chair. “We’re going, by the way. So… get your stuff.”

The ride there was quiet. Heavy. Vergil’s discomfort coming out in waves. Nero wasn’t exactly comfortable either, but he was glad that they were past the point of being at each other’s throats, literally and figuratively.

This was nice, in a way. Awkward, but nice. It was a change of pace he could to get used to—and he hoped his father could too.

“I suppose it’s fair we also do something you enjoy.” Vergil spoke up beside him, and Nero peeled his eyes off the road to look at his father. He didn’t return his gaze.

“Yeah, maybe we can watch a movie next time you’re around. I’m sure you’ve missed out on a lot of good stuff.”

“I have.” Vergil agreed, and left it at that.

Maybe there was more to Vergil’s answer. Maybe there wasn’t. Nero didn’t want to read too much into it. He’d hoped things would change and, in a strange turn of events, they did. 

And, for now, whatever they had going on was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
